


the words of a broken man

by V_e_s_a_n_u_s



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_e_s_a_n_u_s/pseuds/V_e_s_a_n_u_s
Summary: Written for the DA Prompt Exchange Summer Fill-a-thon!Prompt by Anonymous:Hawke begins to have nightmares about the people they feel they’ve let down. First their sibling, then their mother, their father, friends, even their dog. No sleep and fractured sleep start to take their toll and suddenly the nightmares aren’t just happening when they close their eyes. They’re right there in front of them.





	the words of a broken man

Garrett had always felt responsible for his family, ever since his father died, being the eldest son. He had to look after his family as they grieved, especially his mother. She had changed, she was... different without Malcolm. She was lost.

Garrett had to keep Bethany and himself safe from the Templars, and although Lothering didn’t have a Circle, there were always Templars about. He knew how difficult it was for his father to escape the Circle in the first place, and he wasn’t about to let him _or_ Bethany be subjected to that. He had to keep Carver out of trouble too, hot-headed and young as he was, he got into more fights than he ought to and when he wasn’t doing that he’d take his frustration out on Bethany.

So Garrett had to try his best to keep others away from his family, and sometimes, his family away from each other. It wasn’t easy. Of course, it wasn’t.

They’d lost a husband, a father, a friend. They were all heart-broken.

Garrett had to work, to sustain them. He worked _hard_ to make sure his younger siblings knew as little hardship as they could. Their happiness depended on him. Their _lives_ depended on him. They depended on him.

He was responsible for them.

He couldn’t have stopped his father from dying. He wasn’t even there when it happened. But he hadn’t thought he would have experienced more death so soon. Only 3 years later. With something he _could_ have stopped. Because _he was responsible for them._

“Maker, give me strength!”

Those four words and then Garrett had failed. For the first time, but not the last.

 _She’s a mage,_ Garrett thought angrily, _what is she doing? Why is she so close? Back up, back up!_ He was about to shout at her to fall back when a large hand plucked the girl off of the ground.

She struggled in that blighted creature’s grip before there was a sickening crack, and then she fell silent.

Silence. The world span around him. His heart was beating loud in his ears, his eyes zeroed in on her suspended form in shock.

_No, no. She’s fine. She’s fine. She has to be fine. It’s Bethany. She’s fine._

He barely took her eyes off her as the rest of his party attacked the ogre with all they had. He cast spells with no focus, with no regard for how dangerous it could have been. He wasn’t there. His eyes glassy, his mind blank. Numb. He knew the moment he heard that horrible crack. But he wouldn’t let himself believe it.

_She’ll be fine._

The ogre fell to the floor, large head crunching into the ground, limbs crashing around it, but Garrett didn’t see that. He ran to Bethany with all the might his numbed legs could manage. Knelt there was his mother, too, sobbing.

“Bethany! Wake up!” She shook her daughter’s shoulders softly, “The battle’s over, we’re fine!”

_She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine._

He didn’t believe it. But he wanted to. Even as Aveline was talking, it hadn’t quite sunk in. And as usual, as he’d done ever since his father died not three years before, he covered his pain with a poor attempt at humour.

His mother snarled back at him, “Don’t speak to me of grief! This is your fault! How could you let her charge off like that?”

He was stunned into silence for a moment. But he had to keep them moving, had to _protect_ them. He was responsible for their family. Responsible for what was left of their family.

So yes, Garrett had always felt responsible for his family.

Even more so when he failed it.

_This is your fault!_

 

* * *

 

And that was how Hawke woke, sweat trailing down his forehead and breathing hard, and he sat up with a start. His heart had either stopped in his chest or was beating so fast it knocked the breath out of him. He couldn’t breathe. She was gone. His heart had stopped. She was flung to the ground. He couldn’t think. She was dead. He was _dying_. He-

_THIS IS YOUR FAULT!_

“Good morning, messere,” came a small voice from the doorway, seemingly unaware of his master’s condition, “Sorry to wake you but breakfast will be served shortly.”

Garrett couldn’t manage much more than a nod but the dwarf left as quickly as he’d arrived. His face fell into his hands and he started sobbing. It was just another nightmare. It always felt so _real_ , like it was happening all over again. Like he was losing her again. Like he’d lost so much the past 6 years.

And he’d let Bodahn _see_ him like this. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He couldn’t let anyone know. They couldn’t be burdened with this. He had to be strong. He had to lead them. They had to think he was strong. They had to.

Because as he’d lost his real family, he’d gained another.

And he was still responsible for them.

He felt the weight of it all crushing down on his chest. He’d let his real family down. He’d just fail again. Until every one of his friends was dead too. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t save them all. But he had to try.

Garrett tried to calm his breathing, scrubbing the tears off of his face with the back of his hand. It took several minutes of him staring at the crumpled and sweat-damp bedsheets thinking of nothing before his hyperventilating even began to subside, and even longer for his heart to stop pounding too. He took a couple more breaths.

_You’re okay. You can do this. Be strong._

He dressed in silence as his body returned to normal. He brushed his palms against his clothes until they stopped sweating and his hands were steady once more. Garrett ran a hand through his damp hair tiredly.

He had a hard time sleeping, lying restless in his bed long into the night until he got up to do something or passed out from exhaustion. Even when he did manage to sleep he was plagued by nightmares, so when he woke he felt more tired than he had before the night began. He would start the day more sleepy, and crash into bed the following night for the neverending cycle to begin again.

After a few more deep breaths by the door, he prepared himself, ready to grin his way through the day as if everything was fine, as if he wasn’t tearing himself up inside. He headed downstairs, and as Bodahn had said breakfast was ready and waiting on the table. He sat down with the odd selection of people and dug in.

Two dwarves, an elf and a human; none of whom were related, all eating together in a mansion in Kirkwall. Yet another family he needed to protect, but he didn’t resent them for it. They all did so much for him. They really were family. And that was why, although some of the other nobles would look down at him for it, he ate at the same table as all of them. Of course, he did.

Family.

It had been a long time since he’d sat down with his whole family. Six long years.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t have another episode, not a really bad one, until almost a week later. His nights were still sleepless, as they had been for a long time, and he was still crushed by the knowledge that so many people were depending on him. But he’d been doing okay, by his standards.

They’d headed into a cave, on the trail of some mages who’d escaped the Circle. He’d told the Templars they’d track them down and bring them back, but, as he’d had to _thoroughly_ explain to Anders not a moment later, they were going to _help_ them escape: throw the Templars off their trail. The mage had been all too happy to help, after that. He’d brought Varric and Isabela along too, thinking they’d be more supportive than some of their other companions, even if Varric hated caves as much as he hated everything else that wasn’t the inside of his room in the Hanged Man.

They fought their way in, facing the normal foes of the strangely familiar caves, mostly giant spiders, angry they’d disturbed their nests. The further they headed in, the darker it got. That was when Hawke started to get uncomfortable. It was dark, and he could feel the weight of many rocks above his head and the air was starting to get stifling.

It reminded him of the Deep Roads.

 _Not here_ , he thought, not allowing his breathing to speed up, _not now._ He tried to distract himself, striking up an idle chat with Varric as they walked, who was more than happy to fill the silence. It didn’t stop the paranoia seeping in, though. He was nervous, he felt unsafe.

The shout from Isabela up ahead made him jump, heart skipping a beat before continuing at a faster pace. He willed it to slow down as he jogged to the opening the rogue had squeezed through. The cave opened up a bit, here. The ceiling was much higher than it had been in the paths that spiralled downwards, but it was still a natural cave, as he could tell from the damp rock beneath him as moisture seeped through his shoes.

The runaway mages were in the centre of the cavern, one of them, a woman in a blue robe, was sprawled on the floor with her head in the other’s lap. Injured, perhaps? The other mage looked up at them with a tear-stained face, her green hood pushed back onto her shoulders.

“Help us! Please, help!” She cried to them, pulling the other mage closer.

“I feel… wrong…” the blue-cloaked woman croaked softly, lips barely moving but her face contorted with great effort. Hawke flinched at the words, they reminded him of something, something he’d rather forget.

“She… she was worried we weren’t going to escape-“ the other stammered, “We heard fighting in the caves behind us: we thought you were _Templars!”_

“It’s okay, take your time. You’re safe with us,” Varric said to the woman with a soft smile.

“Sh-she wanted to make sure we got out!” She sobbed, looking down at her. “She made a deal.”

Anders instantly frowned, “With a demon?”

“Yes! But-but she’s fighting it!” She said, “When we saw you come in, she didn’t want to hurt you! She’s fighting it!”

“It’s getting… worse,” the woman in her lap said with difficulty, “I can’t… not for much longer…”

“Please, you have to-“

“Thea,” she said softly, “I’m n-not going to make it. I… won’t be able to hold it back much longer. I don’t w-want to be a monster. You need to stop it. You need to stop… me. _Please_.”

Hawke was stepping back as she spoke, breathing speeding up until he was hyperventilating, his back pressed against the cold cavern wall. _Not here_. He could barely stop the images pressing insistently into his mind. He didn’t want to remember. But it was too similar, it was-

“I-I can’t, please _no,_ there’s got-"

“ _You’ll do it for me, won’t you_ Thea?”

And with that, he lost the fight and his memories flooded into view. He didn’t see the shaking mage sink a blade deep into her companion’s chest with tears wracking her body. All he saw was the Deep Roads.

Carver.

There was nothing he could do as his brother collapsed to the ground in agony. _He should never have brought him._ His brother spoke to him so clearly, as if they couldn’t hear the fear in his voice. He’d never heard Carver be scared before.

There was nothing they could do.

They were miles away from civilisations, and even if they weren’t, there was no cure for the Blight. No cure for the taint that was coursing through him, killing him from the inside out. No cure that he knew of. He was going to die. It was his fault.

His brother’s face was pale with sickness and fear when he realised what had to be done. Carver wasn’t going to sit around for the slow, painful death the Blight would bring. He wouldn’t be reduced to that.

Hawke knew what he would ask the moment his brother’s eyes calmed and then turned to him. Asking him for the one thing he couldn’t do. He helped the man stand on shaky legs and his own hands trembled as he took his brother’s sword from him.

“You’ll do it, won’t you, brother?” His eyes wide as he looked at him. Carver needed him to be strong. He was anything but.

 _No! I can’t do it, I won’t fail you too! I won’t lose you and Bethany in one year! I can’t!_ Is what he wanted to say.

But he forced a smile around tearing eyes. “You always did ask for the world, Carver.”

“And you always gave it.”

He was shaking, tears streaming down his face no matter how hard he fought them. But Carver didn’t cry. He was giving his big brother a soft smile. Garrett should have looked after him, should have teased him less. He should have been a better brother, _he should have been better_.

He was supposed to protect them.

He was supposed to look after them.

“It’s just you now,” Carver said as his smile waned and his eyes saddened, “Take care of Mother.”

He hugged him tightly before turning his brother around. Then, like a coward, he plunged his sword into his little brother’s back.

He failed him.

He failed them both.

_THIS IS YOUR FAULT!_

He was wrenched back to reality with that heart-breaking sentence. There were people all around him, but he couldn’t see them through the tears. He thrashed about, trying to get them away from him.

“It’s my fault!” He shouted, voice breaking as gentle hands stopped him from punching them. His voice cracked again in defeat as his hands were returned to his side, “It’s my fault.”

The words of a broken man.

“You’re back, it’s okay. Everything is fine.” Came a soothing voice.

He wasn’t back. Carver wasn’t back. Bethany wasn’t back. Everything was not fine. He was alone. He was-

Someone was pulling him into a tight embrace and the sudden gesture startled him, grounded him. He clung back with frightening intensity. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re back. You’re fine. Everything is going to be okay.”

It… was?

He stayed there for one long, silent moment, before slowly moving back when his heart had synchronised with the person he was clinging to. Safe. He pulled back slowly, and a very worried Anders filled his vision. Isabela and Varric had moved away, dealing with the remaining mage and pretending as if they weren’t scared out of their wits for him.

Hawke pulled fully out of Anders’ grip roughly, then, realising what happened. He promised himself to never do this in front of them. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes with the rough backs of his sleeves.

“Hawke, stop-“

“Don’t!” Hawke snapped, pulling his arms further away from the mage. Part of him knew he just wanted to help. Part of him _wanted_ that help. But the other parts knew the truth.

He didn’t _deserve_ help. He failed them. He failed all of them.

Anders didn’t look like he was going to give this up easily, but patted him softly on the shoulder and stood up, giving him space. Hawke was so grateful.

When he felt ready, he stood. He didn’t look any of the others in the eye. The mage was reluctantly leaving with one of her friend’s keepsakes. Anders told the rogues that they would return to the Templars and make up a story. Hawke didn’t argue. He just wanted to go home.

He was so very tired.

 

* * *

 

He could get no sleep after that. He tossed and turned in his bed, the guilt tearing him up inside. He shouldn’t have let them see. Least of all Anders. He didn’t want him to worry. He didn’t deserve his pity.

_“Come find me if you need anything. Anything, Hawke.”_

Hawke needed something. He was afraid to ask for it. Afraid he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t want Anders to suffer because of him. He didn’t want _anyone_ to suffer because of him. He couldn’t deal with any more death.

That was the first night he leapt out of bed to find something, _anything_ to do. Before then, he’d always spent the day working and the night trying to sleep, or resting up in the day and heading out at night. But that night, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. He gathered his companions, ensuring that none of them had accompanied him during the day and they prowled all over Kirkwall, looking for quests or troublemakers.

And the next morning, instead of falling back as he usually did after a patrol, he headed back out to gather a different party and see what the day offered. When night came again, he went out again.

He didn’t even touch his bed for four nights.

He was irritated, antsy. He’d flinch at any shadow in the docks, convinced they were being followed, or that they were about to be ambushed. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He didn’t want to see what nightmares awaited him when he got there. Fighting kept him busy. Fighting meant he didn’t remember.

But it took its toll, as it always did.

He found himself outside of Anders’ clinic, in the middle of the night, with no idea how he got there or what he was doing before. He needed help. He knew it. He couldn’t go on like this. He knew _that_ too. He didn’t want to go in, though. He still didn’t want to worry him.

He started to panic, his pulse racing and his breathing speeding up. He didn’t know what to do. How could he ask for help that he didn’t deserve? He couldn’t-

The door in front of him creaked open to reveal a similarly tired-looking Anders, who gave a soft smile when he saw him. “Hawke?”

“Anders, I-”

“Come in,” he said, opening the door wider for the mage to follow him through, “You know, heavy breathing outside a man’s door isn’t what he _wants_ to hear in the middle of the night. Not that it isn’t flattering.”

Hawke took a deep breath to calm himself and followed him through, putting on a smile. It didn’t feel as forced as usual. He enjoyed the healer’s company more than he cared to admit. In another world, maybe they could have been more than friends. If Hawke didn’t destroy everything he touched.

Anders was yawning, running a hand through his golden hair, dishevelling as he went, before turning back to Hawke who was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly around himself. The healer raised an eyebrow with a grin, “So what did you come here for?”

Hawke stammered, trying to find an answer to that question himself. _I need help. Please._ “I- um, I don’t-”

And then he stopped, mouth open in shock, staring in horror behind Anders.

_“I knew you would come.”_

Hawke’s heart raced. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. He backed up against the wall behind him in shock. “Wha- I, _how?_ No! Get away from me!”

Anders spun around in shock to see nothing, and then ran to Hawke’s side, “Hawke, what is it? There’s nothing there!”

But there was.

It was his mother, sewn together to all of those other women’s limbs, shuffling towards him with those wide, greying eyes. He could almost smell the rotting flesh, shuddering as he saw maggots fall from her lumbering form, _“Don’t fret,_ **_darling_** _.”_

“No! No, I-” Hawke shook his head, screaming, trying to scramble further away but the wall prevented his escape.

It shambled towards him, this thing from the nightmares he never wanted to see, here in his right mind with his eyes open. She was there. _She was real._ That thing came ever closer on legs that wouldn’t obey with taunting words from that night. _“I get to see Bethany and Carver again… and your father. But you’ll be here_ **_alone_ ** _.”_

Alone. Because he failed them. All of them. It was his fault.

 _“My little boy has become_ **_so_ ** _strong,”_ it said, a cruel mockery of how she’d _really_ said it, with tears in her eyes and fear in her heart, instead it was sneering at him. Sneering at the way he was screaming, crying but couldn’t look away.

“Mother- I, I-”

 _“I love you. You’ve always made me so_ **_proud_** _,”_ it jeered with a hateful grin. It collapsed at his feet, using its broken arms to cling to him and pull itself forwards, lifting its snarling face, his _mother’s_ face, right into his.

He couldn’t look away, despite the tears, despite Anders shaking him and shouting to look at him. The monster in front of him opened its jaws, letting maggots crawl out and fall onto him even as he shied away. “Ge-get away from me!”

It screeched at him, an ear-splitting screech that burned into his memory that he could never forget. _“This is all_ **_your_ ** _fault!”_

Anders was panicking. The man in front of him was having some sort of episode, hallucinating most likely. He couldn’t get his attention and Hawke was delirious, crying and screaming and trying to escape, but wide eyes fixed on one point with total horror. He tried everything to make his friend snap out of it, but as he heard three heart-breaking words fall from his lips he knew what he had to do.

“It’s my fault!”

He cast the sleeping spell without a second thought, and the man lost all tension in his body as his eyes fell shut. Anders caught the collapsing form with relative difficulty but he hugged him tight for a moment. His own heart was pounding. He’d never seen anyone, not even in the midst of a fever, have hallucinations as vivid as that. And it terrified him.

He slowly managed to drag the man to his room and placed him as gently as he could on his bed. He looked at the broken man in front of him, on the verge of tears himself. How could they not have known it was this bad? Why did he try to keep this from them? He was going to talk about Hawke’s episode in the caves with him, but there hadn’t been a good time - he thought they _had_ time. He never knew it was this bad. None of them did.

He wiped the tears off of Hawke’s face with a shaking hand. “You don’t need to hide this from us any more. We’re here for you.”

Anders stood and left the room quietly, to wait for the mage to wake up and maybe get some sleep himself, if he _could_ sleep after that.

“I’m here for you.”

 

* * *

 

For the first time in years, Hawke didn’t dream. And he slept all through the night, and most of the day, in fact. When he woke, he felt… he didn’t know how to describe it. It was the first morning he woke up _not_ sleep-deprived and he felt…

He felt alive.

The man sat up slowly as he began to take in his environment. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t recognise this place. But somehow, it felt like home. It was a small room, mostly brown, with a small cot that he was sitting in. There was a small chest in the corner but besides that the room was empty.

He stood up warily, acutely aware that he didn’t have his staff. He knew he didn’t _need_ the staff to fight, but sometimes it’s easier to whack an enemy on the head with a long piece of wood than it is to cast a spell. It was as he was considering this that Anders’ face popped around the door.

“Ah, I thought I heard you get up. I got breakfast!” He grinned. Hawke felt bad about that: he knew how much the mage struggled to keep his own life in check, let alone caring for him too. Anders must have seen his darkening expression and added quickly on the end, “Varric paid for it.”

Hawke smiled at that. It was good to know they looked after each other, at least. “Thank you,” he said softly, following the other mage out and sat down to eat with him.

For a while, neither of them spoke and they just ate in relative peace and quiet. Hawke was keeping his mind blank and Anders was mostly happy to have a good meal, for once. As they began to finish, the healer spoke gently.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asked, trying to meet Hawke’s down-turned gaze, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hawke sighed. He’d been avoiding this for years. “I-I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

Anders rubbed his forehead wearily, “Hawke, we _need_ to worry. What you’re going through is very serious, we need to be there to help you.”

“I…” Hawke still didn’t look up, and mumbled the next part very quietly, “I don’t deserve help.”

“What?” Anders asked in shock. Surely, _surely_ he heard that wrong. But no, as Hawke’s small voice repeated timidly, Anders found he was entirely right. He could barely contain his anger. He had to. Shouting at him out of frustration would not help the situation. It wouldn’t help Hawke.

“Garrett,” he said very seriously, “Of course, you deserve help. Everybody does. _Especially_ you. You’re kind, generous, and you go out of your way to help everyone. _You deserve help.”_

Hawke shook his head.

“Garrett, why in Maker’s name would you _not_ deserve help?!” He shouted before he could stop himself. He felt terrible when he saw the man flinch further into himself and Anders sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.” The other man still didn’t look up. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Hawke replied, stopping his voice from breaking as much as he could. It didn’t help much.

“Tell me why you don’t deserve help.”

Hawke opened his mouth, and then shut it. Answering that question was harder than he thought it would be. It was _obvious._ Of course, he didn’t deserve help. Anders knew. He was just making fun of him. But… no. Hawke saw the look of genuine hurt and confusion in the other man’s eyes. He just wanted to understand.

His voice was quiet in the silence. Small. “I don’t deserve help because it’s my fault.”

“What is?”

Hawke took a deep breath. He needed to do this. “I was supposed to protect them. I was responsible for them. I failed them all. They’re all dead.”

“Who?”

“My family.”

Anders’ heart was crushed. Of course, he felt that way. “Hawke, none of that is your fault,” Hawke’s eyes fell away, the healer wasn’t _listening_ to him, he didn’t want to understand- “Listen to me. None of your families deaths were _your fault.”_

Hawke pressed his hands into his eyes, trying to force tears back in. “How? I couldn’t save any of them. I failed them.”

“No. That’s not true,” Anders grabbed one of his hands and held it tightly between his, “Listen to me, that’s not true,” the mage only continued when Hawke met his eyes, “You didn’t fail your father. He contracted the Blight, there was nothing you could have done. **You didn’t fail him**.

"Bethany died to protect you. You didn’t fail her by not saving her. She sacrificed herself for you. Because she loved you. She saved you. That was her choice, her decision. **You didn’t fail her."**  

He nodded slowly, holding eye contact as the tears streamed down Hawke’s face, “There was nothing to be done for Carver. Just like your father. He died by your hand, but you _did_ save him. You saved him from an agonisingly slow and painful death. **You didn’t fail him.**

"And your mother,” the healer took a deep breath, “What happened to her was monstrous. It was something none of us could have stopped. She didn’t think you failed her. She died knowing she loved you. That she was proud of you. Because **you didn’t fail her.”**

There was a moment of quiet, where the only sound was the soft sniffling and the sound of tears hitting the hardwood table.

“Do you understand me, Garrett?” He said softly, running his thumbs over the hand in his grip, “You didn’t fail them. You haven’t failed us. You did your best, and that’s the most anyone can ever ask. You made them proud.”

“It’s just… we see so much death,” he sniffled, “But only four of them matter to me.”

“Of course, of _course,_ they do. They were… they _are_ your family. No one can replace them. But you didn’t fail them by not saving them. They didn’t need saving.”

“I need saving,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Anders replied sadly, “And we’ll be here for you. We’re not your family, but we are your friends. We’re going to help you through this.”

“Thank you,” he said after a while.

They sat there until Garrett felt steadier, with Anders rubbing soothing circles into his palm. The healer almost didn’t want to let him leave. He wanted him to stay, so he could watch him, make _sure_ he was okay. All of the time. But he knew he couldn’t ask that of him.

“I’ll get you something to help you sleep,” Anders stood when Hawke pulled his hand back gently. He rummaged around for a bit, throwing odds and ends into a couple of pouches for him and giving the man some instructions with a smile.

“Really, Anders. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no problem. But remember, Hawke,” he added very seriously, “You need to talk to us.”

“I know. I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! XD  
> Leave a comment or kudos if you have the time, it would mean the world to me! ヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ


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